Elf, Man, and Demon
by zephyrXmeridian
Summary: Swept against her will to the Underdark, Tazieyn Jir'eniel's sense of trust has been badly shaken by past events. Now, she must place her faith in the most unlikely of people to defeat a common enemy and free a new ally from the bond of his heritage.
1. Tense Meetings

**Elf, Man, and Demon**

(Chapter the First – Tense Meetings)

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**A/N from Silvorfithrade the Oddity:**

_And here goes another attempt at writing HotU fanfiction. I writer's blocked about halfway through the first one, but that was two years ago, so here we go again. Not much will make me happier than a review or three; I always improve so much more when someone else is pointing out all my flaws. : ) So...I hope you like the story enough to at least keep from printing out a copy and burning it in a blast furnace. Happy readings, friends._

_And now, the usual. I don't own HotU, or NwN, or any of the copyrighted stuff. Tazi is my charrie, so I guess you can say I own her...but other than that, I claim nothing. Except, well the writing, because I did do that but...oh, just remember I'm not getting paid for this so don't sue me. -wink-_

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"Dooooom doom dooo-" 

"Deekin, kindly shut up. Please." Tazieyn Jir'eniel slid to the ground, her back against the ornate stone pillar, and rubbed her temples in frustration. Even thinking about running back to Waterdeep caused the _geas_ to react, and at this moment, the half-elf was learning firsthand what it meant to have her soul tightly constricted. The tiny kobold noticed the pain in her face and fished in his pack, holding out a small, blue bottle.

"Boss want potion? Deekin gives potion to achy boss?"

"No, I…I'm fine, Deekin."

The pale young woman smoothed her jet black hair down and straightened up, shaking her head in the process. "I think I just need some sleep."

"Oh. Sleep is very healthy for Boss! Sleep be a good, good idea. Deekin thinks…maybe he sleep too?"

"Yes, you can sleep too."

"Huzzah!" The little kobold skipped around merrily, earning the two of them murderous looks from onlooking drow warriors.

Tazieyn Jir'eniel looked around just then and sighed, realizing just then that it might be a _long_ time before she saw her meager little home of Hilltop ever again. Everything had happened so fast; she had originally been commissioned by Durnan, the innkeeper of the Yawning Portal to investigate what originally appeared to be a drow invasion from a vast network of tunnels beneath the city of Waterdeep. Upon reaching the bottom level, she and the kobold bard had run straight into the demented owner of the complex labyrinth, a mage with considerable power. Power considerable enough, in fact, to place a _geas_, a web of complex, binding magic of enslavement, on her soul. Now, the only way to escape the Underdark and return to the surface was to stop the drow intrusion, but the drow, it seemed, were especially prone to mixed politics and traitorous deeds.

Shaking her head in halfhearted amusement at the irony of it all, Tazieyn looked around her. Allied with drow? Her own Moon Elf blood boiled at the very notion. Not that she had been one to harbor racial hatreds, but the resentment, it seemed, ran much deeper than conscious thought. Yes, this faction of drow were different from the rest. She knew that much from hearing the name of the goddess they worshipped.

Eilistraee. The goddess who had given her new life. The one who had helped her accept who she was, helped her get over her lost paladinship. The one who had accepted her with open arms when the disciples of Tyr cast her out. Prejudices carried the weight of a thousand ironies, it seemed.

"Boss! You is daydreaming again? You sure does that a lot lately."

"What?" Tazieyn glanced down and realized the kobold had been tugging at her leathers for some time. "Sorry Deekin. Lead the way."

"That be it, Boss. Deekin not knows where to go in big dark elf city. Maybe…maybe Boss know where?" Deekin glanced up at her with round, hopeful eyes.

Tazieyn swore as she realized she was completely lost in a city of dark elves, standing beside a kobold with a crossbow that was quickly running out of bolts. A tap on the shoulder set off her reflexes completely, and her rapier was drawn, the razor-edged tip no more than a centimeter away from the tense throat of a powerful, albeit familiar-looking tiefling warrior. Inwardly, she breathed a sigh of relief, but held her stance. "What do you want, Valen?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "The Seer had a vision. She told me you were lost and sent me to find you."

"Oooh! Goat-man have nice tail!" Deekin admired, eyes shining. "Deekin writes story about goat-man, maybe?"

"Deekin, that's enough." She clapped her free hand over the kobold's mouth, but the rest of her body was motionless.

"So you've been acquainting yourself with the…magnificent city of Lith My'athar," Valen sneered, nodding with his head toward the meager encampment and scattered buildings. "The temple of Eilistraee is that way." He pointed in a vague direction, and glanced back at her face. "Well? Shall I lead the damsel in distress back to her hiding place?"

"Is that how you see me?" Tazieyn asked, mild amusement tugging the corners of her lips into a smile. "A weak little woman here by force, with no strength of her own?"

"Boss not weak!" snarled Deekin, the kobold jumping immediately to his leader's defense. "Boss fight big dragons, kill them too! Deekin sees! Deekin bet Boss can fight _two_ dragons—"

Here, Tazieyn clamped her hand back over his mouth. "Shut up," she snarled at the kobold through gritted teeth. Turning back to the big man, she blinked at him. "Wanna have a go at it? Right here. Just to prove you wrong. Or are you going to back off because you're afraid to lose?" she taunted. Usually a calm, collected strategist, her patience had been wearing thin as of late especially since her forced arrival in the Underdark. Drawing her other rapier, she turned and faced him, crouched low in a battle stance. Yes, he was close to twice her size, but she was too irritated at this point to care.

"I refuse to fight a woman," he said simply, watching her.

"Then go back to the Planes," murmured a voice behind him, silk-smooth and dangerous. A petite drow woman dressed in black assassin's leathers materialized from the shadows around them and eyed Valen intently. "You pledge to help us defeat the Valsharess, a drow high priestess and a _queen_, and yet you back down from a simple challenge issued by our newcomer? Liar's words, Valen. You've fought women before. Accept her challenge and don't you dare walk away a coward."

A red tinge came over his deathly pale cheeks at her biting remarks. "Fine," he said to Tazieyn, unhooking the heavy flail from his belt. "I suppose if you die, we can always take your body to the Seer and have her raise you."

"Um…Boss? Maybe…you rethink offer? That thing look big and nasty…"

Tazieyn ignored him. She stared into his eyes, such an _icy_ blue, those eyes, and sidestepped a quick thrust. He retaliated by drawing a knife from his belt and throwing it at her, the surprise attack causing her to drop her guard with her left hand. He then swung the flail at the opening; even as she dodged again, the attack threw her off-balance, and she spun right within reach of his off-hand.

He made a grab for her cloak, but she simply undid the tie and shed it, leaving him holding an empty pile of cloth. Throwing it aside, he turned to search for her and spotted her in time to block and parry a double strike from her tiny blades. She felt satisfaction well up inside her as a line of red appeared on the back of an exposed hand.

"So tieflings _do_ bleed," she remarked casually as he deflected another of her moves. She was rewarded with another death glare and a fierce swing of the flail. Then, he seemed to regain his composure and relax.

"I hear moon elves have ice for blood," he commented as one of his blows scraped her right calf, tearing through the cloth and leather to leave a deep gash in her leg. "Ah, you bleed too, I see."

"I'm half human too," she returned, fighting to remain focused through the pain and leaving another, deeper gash on his forearm, almost laughing as the greave fell to the ground, the leather straps sliced by her rapier.

"Then we are not so different," he said simply. Feinting to the left, he dove to her right and slammed a heavy fist into the side of her head.

oOo

Tazieyn opened her eyes and found her vision blurred, a pounding ache in her head. Suddenly remembering where she was, she groped around for her rapier and felt…sheets? "Gods…" she muttered, sinking back down.

"That was foolish, to challenge him like that," commented someone. Nathyrra?

"I guess not sleeping in two days can do things to a person's perception of what's wise," she groaned, reaching for her pack to find a potion. Her pack was nowhere to be found.

"Here." The drow handed her a blue bottle, which she downed gratefully. The pain in her head lessened and her vision cleared substantially.

"Besides," Tazieyn continued, "it wasn't as though you didn't encourage him."

Nathyrra shrugged. "He forgets who he fights for, and against, sometimes. It doesn't hurt to remind him from time to time."

Two torches on the walls, the only source of light in the room, revealed a black writing desk on the room's opposite side. A chair seemingly carved out of grey stone was placed haphazardly near it, and draped on it was her belt. The two rapiers she always carried had been placed neatly on the table, and beside it was her pack.

"So you trust me and he doesn't? Is that how it stands?" Tazieyn asked. Her voice carried no acidity; her question was simply that; a question.

"Who says I trust you fully just yet?" Nathyrra countered and disappeared out of the room.

Tazieyn stared at ornate designs carved into the ceiling and contemplated the elf's words. Trust, she decided finally, was a two-way street.


	2. Past is Past

Chapter Two – Past is Past

**A brief A/N**: _Please excuse minor discrepancies; I would play through the game again to refresh my memory, but there is the slight problem of it being...lost somewhere at the moment... -_smacks self_- I know, I know. Stupid, to lose such a treasure. Good thing I played through it at least four times and each chapter individually at least twice before my room underwent a renovation. XD A few names are beyond me and my hapless attempts at research as well, so...there is my miserably poor excuse of the incorrect details you may find. _

_Also, any snippets of the Drow language would be courtesy of Drow Dictionary and House Maerdyn; a Google search should be sufficient to find these two marvelous translator sites. Happy reading. - __**Silvorfithrade**_

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"You know I speak truth when I say I trust you, Valen."

He let the Seer's words wash over him, a reassuring presence in his troubled mind. "We have had this conversation before," he began, but the regal priestess cut him off with a hand raised.

"You have been uneasy since Tazieyn's arrival. The Goddess has given me bits and pieces of the story, but she has not shown me all of it. You do know that Eilistraee cares for you, Valen. As she does all her followers."

"I am fine," he answered stoically. _No you are not,_ whispered his demon half. _You want blood. I can give it to you. You want to kill that girl, don't you? Why don't you do it? She will steal your glory. All of it. What will you do when the Seer casts you out…_

"Leave me be!" he roared, drawing shocked looks from the temple's acolytes. Eyes burning, he observed the reactions before him with a sinking feeling. The Seer's face grew slightly alarmed as she waved her hand to dismiss everyone else in the room.

"Please, leave this place for the moment; I will send for you when your return is necessary," she said calmly, the panicked expression quickly and fluidly melting away to reveal a face of serene peace once more. Then, she turned to the man before her.

"It is happening again, is it not?"

Valen turned away, unable to bear the shame. He had given in again. His weak half had given in. For a moment he wondered if he would ever be free from the curse of his demonic blood. No...fate would be too kind for it to be so. In his experience, fate was never kind.

"Look at me, Valen."

"Get rid of me, Seer," he whispered, clenching his fists as the slender woman before him eyed him keenly. "I'm endangering your people; can't you see that? Damn you all, just kill me now! End it before I...before I..." He shook his head angrily and bit his lip, slamming a fist down on a nearby table. The wood shuddered and splintered at his blow.

"Do you truly believe yourself unforgivable?"

"Look at who I _am_, Seer," he whispered, his breath ragged. "At _what_ I am. You don't know what I've done, at what I've been compelled to do. How can I allow others to forgive me when I cannot even begin to forgive myself?"

"The surfacer needs you, Valen. She needs your strength, and your presence. It is how the Goddess has meant it to be; there can be no other way."

"She doesn't trust me," he shot back. "I do not blame her."

"Trust?" The Seer smiled at him, laughter tugging at her eyes. "Valen Shadowbreath, trust is not something that is set in stone; distrust is the same way. It is also something that goes in two directions. Believe me, she has already forgiven you, and it is likely she has already forgotten about yesterday's scuffle."

"You...how did you..." his blue eyes flared scarlet for a brief moment before returning to their normal sheen.

"Eilistraee is watching over you, _ussta dalharuk_." The Seer smiled faintly and brushed his face with her hand, their skin tones contrasting like two statues of ivory and ebony. "S_reen'aur z'hind_, and stay strong. Keep your faith, Valen, and don't ever forget you are also part human. Now go, find Tazieyn. The Goddess be with you..."

"Safe journeys, my son," he repeated to himself as he turned to the door. "Wait, Seer—" He looked around and found himself in the middle of one of Lith M'yathar's many dirt roads.

"Move along, _fiend_," hissed a man's voice in his ear, but the speaker vanished before he could spot him. He could feel his anger beginning to rise as a hand was laid on his shoulder.

"_Dalharuk d'elg'caress_!" he hissed as he whirled around, almost running headlong into Tazieyn Jir'eniel's slight frame.

"Son of a she-dog, I see. You know, I could _almost_ make out what you were saying." She lowered her arm and put her hands on her hips. "Are you sure you've been here as long as they say? I've heard _humans_ speak better Drow." She winked at him as a grin bloomed onto her face.

"Well you're certainly in a much better mood today."

She shrugged. "Sleep tends to do that for you. Besides, I figure since I'm stuck down here, might as well enjoy the scenery. Speaking of which – where to?"

Valen looked up at her. "I would have thought you would have some idea after that lengthy briefing with the Seer and General Bre'garth yesterday."

"I do. I just wanted a second opinion."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "First, I must ask you something. A serious question."

"Ask away." The smile vanished from her face as her emerald green eyes grew attentive.

"Why are you doing this?"

The question seemed to confuse her. "Doing what?"

"This. Aiding us. My lady, you have no reason to do what you are doing. Your journey from here to whenever it ends is likely to be a long, drawn-out suicide mission; you have no obligations to Eilistraee, the Seer, or Lith M'yathar. Who are you?"

Tazieyn laughed again. Was she always this perky? "That's where you're wrong on more than one account. See, I did some thinking after my long nap yesterday, somewhat thanks to you, by the way, and I figured it might not be my fight, but it's the right thing to do. Gotta repay the old lady somehow, y'know?"

"Old lady...you mean the Seer?" he asked.

"Eilistraee. Look, you guys need help, and I'm in the position to offer it. So why not? Seems simple enough to me." She shrugged again.

"Boss, you not gonna tell goat man about big wizard spell?" Deekin piped up from nowhere, waving a quill and a piece of parchment. "Deekin gotta know for book!"

"Spell? You're leaving something out, aren't you." He spoke a statement, not a question.

Tazieyn paused, appearing to waver between talking and promptly setting the kobold on fire. Finally, she sighed heavily, choosing the former and contemplating on the latter. "Okay, fine. Whole story, here goes. But no judgments, and you have to promise to believe me." She looked him straight in the eyes as she spoke; he had to give her credit for courage. Not many people could do that.

"My original mission was to investigate a drow invasion into Waterdeep. Someone, or something, was sending drow, duergar, and other creatures of the Underdark into the city through the basement of an old friend's inn. Under that inn, and most of the city, was a tunnel maze system built by some crazy old bat named Halaster, who thought it was funny to _geas_ me into stopping the drow once and for all. Truth is, at first, I didn't want to be here and I was all prepared to fight the _geas_ and go back to my home in Hilltop, forget it all happened, y'know? But after talking to the Seer and all, I started thinking, maybe Eilistraee wanted me down here. And if Eilistraee thinks it's the place for me to be, then I'm not in any position to argue. I needed to get off my butt and end my holiday sooner or later anyway."

"So you would willingly risk your life for strangers."

"For Eilistraee," she corrected. "And yes, some strangers. But hey; why are we standing around here talking in the middle of the street, anyway? Don't we have an island to go check out?"

He could tell from her tone that, as far as she was concerned, the conversation was over. As half-elf, tiefling, and kobold walked toward a ragged pier jutting over black, sickly-looking water, he couldn't help but wonder what a half-elf, half _Moon_ elf at that, had to do with Eilistraee, a predominantly drow goddess. He was almost thankful when Deekin's warbling broke through his thoughts, a sufficient, albeit temporary, distraction.


	3. Goat Man and the EKC

Chapter Three – Goat Man and the Erstwhile Kobold Companion

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_**A/N…again.**_** – **_So it seems I have more time to write than I first thought I did. I suppose I should take advantage of the fact that I still have one more full week before band camp starts and I become sufficiently busy…and hope my chronic writer's block doesn't come back. One of the reasons I would never make it as a published author…but I digress. Yes, I agree with you; I talk too much. _

_**Fhulhi: **__Much thanks for the review, and for solidifying future chapters from Valen's POV. It was something I had questioned at first, and talked myself into doing only through sleep-deprived insanity, so it's a nice surprise to find out it wasn't a total failure. To put it shortly, I greatly appreciated your input._

_Enter…chapter three of this insane tale. _

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"As the Boss and the erstwhile kobold companion made their shaky way off of the giant boat that had brought them through dastardly dangerous black slimy waters – did Deekin describe water too much? – through dark, black slimy waters, they began to feel sudden dread! Goat man follow, of course." 

Tazieyn grimaced; as much as she found Deekin's narration to be highly amusing and entertaining, she found it unsettling how he managed to pinpoint and nail with words the exact emotion she felt at the time of each scene he diligently wrote. And write he did, almost endlessly in fact, on their truly disturbing boat trip to the island upon which they now stood.

The entire trip had caused a rather clenching feeling to grow in her gut, and she had spent the journey seated on the deck with her back against the roughly hewn ferry railing trying to force down the constant nausea. And so, her position left her with little else to do but watch her two companions.

Deekin somehow managed to not be bothered at all by the sinister depth of the water; in fact, quite on the contrary, he seemed fascinated by it, almost unable to tear his eyes away from it as he frantically scribbled details down on his travel-worn ream of parchment he always carried. He was so carefree, that one. Never worried, always focusing on what he believed was most important – the telling of his tales and the singing of his songs.

The half-elf regarded that thought as slightly amusing; how similar was the outside world's view of her. Carefree, unburdened by past mistakes of herself and others. Such was the life of a rogue such as herself, she mused, at least to the eyes of one not living it.

Tearing her thoughts away from the path they were taking, she focused on watching Valen's slow pacing at the ship's bow. She was venturing close to her past…too close for her liking. She directed her thoughts, instead, to the way he walked back and forth, alert and anxious to be back on dry land. He hadn't said a word since their conversation in Lith M'yathar, choosing instead to spend his time in silence, though whether it was contemplation or simple observation she had no way of knowing.

And now, here they were, stepping with uncertainty onto the Isle of the Maker.

"If you don't stop that, kobold, I swear, I will tear your tongue out with my bare hands and pickle it in a jar." Tazieyn turned around to see Valen glaring at Deekin, who was sticking his tongue out at the man and glaring with equal ferocity. She almost said something, and would have, had she not suddenly felt the sharp, icy tip of a spear pressed against her throat.

"Make one move, surfacer, and your neck will be skewered to a cold rock surface. What are you doing here?" The voice was gravelly but definitely female. It also seemed to be coming from below…

Tazieyn looked down and caught the cool gaze of an armored duergar woman who looked like she would rather kill than parlay with strangers. "My business here is my concern alone, but I swear to you, I will not harm a hair on your head, or on the heads of your men, as long as you return the favor to me in kind." She felt the divine power course through her for the first time in years, but now was no time to be falling to her knees and offering prayers of thanks to her goddess. Instead, she kept her gaze trained on the dwarf, who suddenly looked down and backed away.

"Damn it all," she heard the woman mutter to herself before regaining her composure. "Look, surfacer, how about we make ourselves a little deal, hmm?"

"Watch who you make deals with, my lady," Valen warned from behind her. "The Underdark is full of treachery."

She ignored him and cocked her neck sideways, giving the duergar an appraising look. "Name the deal, then."

The dwarf shouldered her spear defensively as she spoke. "That golem hall has been our treasure mine for years. Who do those self-righteous _drow_ think they are, to just go in and take over like that? So here's my deal. You go in, kill the drow, find out what's going on to make them go in there in droves like that, and leave most of the treasure to us. I return, we spare your lives."

Tazieyn surprised everyone when her laughter rang light and clear through the cavern. "How about I add to that deal. Let us take fifty percent of the spoils, and we kill the drow, calm the unrest in the hall, and leave and never bother you again."

"Twenty-five percent."

"Forty."

"Done." The duergar reached out a hand which Tazieyn promptly clasped. "The name's Dahanna."

"Tazieyn," the half-elf returned as she shook hands and sealed the deal. "We'll be back when the drow are dead."

Ignoring Valen's splutters of protest and Deekin's howl of "Waiiiit! Deekin needs names of dwarf lady's men!", Tazieyn strode up to a small stone structure about the size of an outhouse and kicked the already loose door. It creaked open, revealing a long flight of stone steps and a blast of stale, icy cold air.

Halfway down the stairs, Valen grabbed Tazieyn's shoulder and eyed her with amusement on her face. "How is she to ever know whether you take forty or seventy-five percent of the treasure down here, anyway?

The half-elf shrugged. "She won't. But haggling's half the fun of a good bargain, tiefling." She grinned. "Might as well have a good time when you can, right?" With that, the woman practically skipped down the steps.

Valen turned to Deekin with a raised eyebrow and asked in a low voice, "Is she always that happy?"

Deekin shrugged and shook his head. "Not really. Maybe winning over dwarf lady got something to do with it? Maybe goat man ask Boss?"

"Maybe," he said to himself thoughtfully. Goat man. The nickname was beginning to grow on him.

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**One moment, please! **

_Might I take a moment to grovel and beg for reviews here? Lack of sleep seems to be draining my motivation. _-wink- _Not asking for a big long summarization; just your opinions. Good? Bad? Extremely terrifyingly horrible? I mean, if you really don't want to...but if you took the time to read through three chapters..._

_Oh, never mind me. I'm just another author hungry for feedback. :)_


	4. Bellamina

Chapter Four – Bellamina

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**Another A/N. **

_Nah. Just kidding this time. _

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She watched intently at the three figures in Ballroom Seven, her insatiable curiosity once again getting the best of her. She watched as the first one to enter, a woman, judging by her slim figure, deftly disarmed _both _of her carefully-laid traps and even went as far as to set one or two of her own. The figure hiding in the shadows snorted derisively. Either a woman, or an elf, that one.

The scene became interesting when the two others entered the room. The second to enter was a miniscule, lizard-like creature, the likes of which she had never seen before. Wait...no, it was just a kobold. Maybe. Whatever it was, it had a terrible singing voice. The third one – now _he_ was more to her interest. Easily over six and a half feet tall, torn sleeves revealed thick, muscular arms slightly slick with something...red? Was he bleeding?

Briefly, she scanned the rest of his frame, committing him to memory. Long, red hair hung down the nape of his neck in a disheveled ponytail, and on his forehead were two sharp, pointy...

She gasped. One of _them_? In _her_ rest area? Heart pounding, she stared, transfixed, as he turned around to say something to his companions. Yes, sure enough, a thin, whiplike tail lashed from the seat of his armor. Suddenly filled with righteous anger, she glanced at the other two figures with him. Of course; now it made sense. The woman was his harlot, and the little creature was most definitely his slave. How she loathed such beings of evil!

The figure in the shadows could stand it no longer. Shouldering her mace, she stood from her crouched position to emerge dramatically into the light and promptly tripped over a loose pile of worn tapestry threads. The color drained from her usually radiant face as all three heads turned toward the source of the noise, and toward _her_.

**oOo**

"Golem hall indeed," Tazieyn muttered as she immediately marched over to the source of the disturbance and hauled the girl to her feet by the front of her tunic. "How long have you been watching us, kid?"

"No!" she shrieked as the half-elf half carried and half dragged her to the center of the room. "By the Council of Scions, I will _not_ let you take me back to the Planes alive! You shall not have me, you wretched..." Her screams were muffled as Tazieyn fished through her pockets and shoved the first thing she found – an old, wadded-up pair of dress stockings – into the girl's mouth.

"Oooh, Boss be so scary when she be angry!" Deekin rubbed his scaly hands together in glee as he reached for parchment and a quill.

"Angry?" Valen looked up at the kobold over the flail he was polishing and raised an eyebrow skeptically. "She looks more amused to me."

"Mmphu!" The girl caught in Tazieyn's grasp twisted around and managed to free one hand, which she used to point at Valen and glare, rage flaring in her golden-hued eyes. Her breathing was labored from her struggle and her long, silver braids were in severe disarray, but her appearance did not seem to faze her as she spat out her gag and let out a long stream of words in a language completely foreign to Tazieyn. Deekin also appeared confused, but Valen's eyes widened in shock as he digested what she was saying. Then, he promptly burst into laughter, an action that only seemed to infuriate her more.

"Valen?" Tazieyn tightened her grip on the girl as she gave him a look that demanded explanations.

"She..." He took a deep breath, trying to quell his mirth before speaking. Finally, he managed, "She just called me a fiendish slave master; she thinks Deekin is my battle fodder and that you are my harlot."

Tazieyn blinked twice to make sure she understood what she was hearing. "She said _what_?"

"At least, that is what I think she said. It has been years since I've the Celestial language, so some of that could be a mistranslation...?"

"Must I spell it out for you in your native language, you cretin?" the girl howled, causing Tazieyn to clap a hand violently over her mouth.

"At least lower your voice, or you'll have every drow and duergar on this island converging on us like vultures to the dead!" she hissed. Suddenly, Tazieyn cursed loudly as the girl placed a well-aimed kick to her kneecap and broke free, brandishing a golden mace at the tiefling.

"You will pay for your foul deeds, you fiendish demonson!" she declared as she swung the mace, but the seasoned fighter was too quick for her as he sprang to his feet and grabbed both of her wrists in a powerful grip.

"Look, you," he said calmly as she struggled to free herself again. "I think you need to just sit down and learn who it is you fight before rushing blindly into a battle you won't win."

"Who are you?" Tazieyn demanded as she rubbed her throbbing knee. "What in the Nine Hells are you doing here? And who – or what – in all of Aber-Toril possessed you to come in here by yourself and throw yourself at potential allies like that?"

"You...you are not..." she stammered, unable to get the words out as her face turned bright red. "I...he...you are traveling together of your own free will?"

Tazieyn advanced on the frightened girl. "Maybe you didn't hear my question clearly enough. How about we start with your name?"

"Bel...Bellamina," she stuttered, trying to scramble away from the furious half-elf. "I was raised in Sigil; my mother was an astral deva who had spent a short amount of time on this plane, where she met my human father. She told me stories of Toril, of the mountains and plains and the _beauty_ of it! And so I thought I would see for myself. But..." her face grew downcast. "I made an error in the casting of the portal that took me here, and instead of landing on the ground like I intended, I landed, well, under it."

"So the clumsy aasimar miscast her first major spell," Valen quipped, a slight sneer curling across his lips.

"Bellamina, I hope you realize your accusations are entirely false. All of them." The threatening glare in Tazieyn's eyes did not diminish as her voice grew progressively darker. "This man that travels with me is a friend, and a competent – if not valuable – ally. His name is Valen, and you will refer to him as such when you address him if you don't want to wake up swallowing the sharp end of my knife. The same goes for the kobold. His name is Deekin. You can call me Tazieyn."

"Ooh, Boss definitely angry now," Deekin whispered, eyeing the scene unfolding before him with growing excitement. "Pretty gold eyes girl in biiiig trouble."

**oOo**

"My lady, I...I thank you. For earlier."

A fire was crackling in the ancient fireplace of the room they had chosen to stay in, and both kobold and newcomer were curled up in front of it, fast asleep. Tazieyn, who had insisted on keeping her nightly vigil for the group, was seated with her back to the fire, facing the room's double door entryway. Valen sat a few feet away from her, his eyes appraising her in quiet contemplation.

He watched her as she eyed him with a smile in her eyes, those welcoming green eyes that accepted his alliance and offered him something he had seldom encountered in his life – friendship. Something he was still reluctant to accept. "You don't have to thank me. It was something I would have done for anyone that travels with me." She grinned. "It's not like I was never on the opposing end of a prejudice before. Half-elves, and especially a – oh, what was the word that one noble used – hypocritical half-breed warrior wannabe, I think was the gist of it. Besides, I always found it pretty profitable to stick up for the guys that watch my back in a fight." She gave him a sly wink after that statement and turned her head back toward the door.

They sat in silence for a few moments, until Tazieyn glanced at him again. "You can sleep, you know. I can handle fighting and waking you guys up at the same time."

"Not if we are ambushed by drow. I would rather be alert if we are attacked, rather than dying in my sleep like an unaware noble in his plush bed."

She crossed her legs and absentmindedly played with a throwing knife. She just seemed...so _innocent_ somehow, so untouched by what went on around her sometimes. Then, there were times when purely righteous anger seemed to course through her body, and her entire demeanor would shift from carefree, unburdened wanderer to that of a powerful warrior ready to bathe an entire battlefield in the blood of her enemies. She intrigued him, if not completely mystified him at times.

"What did you do to that duergar out there?" he asked suddenly, remembering the scene before their entry of the golem hall. The little dwarven woman had been holding a spear to her neck, and a simple glance had seemed to...

"Who, Dahanna?" Tazieyn shrugged. "I don't know. People say I have a commanding presence sometimes. Maybe my human half has Rashemi blood or something."

She was hiding something. He could tell by the way she shifted uncomfortably at his question, and the way she was almost too quick to answer. So she didn't trust him, either. That seemed fair enough.

"I guess since both of us insist on staying awake, how about telling me a little about yourself?" she asked suddenly, her voice playful but her green eyes striking him to the core. Was that intentional? He really couldn't tell.

**oOo**

"Myself? Like what?"

Tazieyn shrugged, as if she didn't really care, but she was determined to get beneath his icy demeanor sooner or later. "Well, how did you meet the Seer?"

She didn't expect the sudden tightening of his jawline, or the way he stiffened up at her words. But before she could say anything else, he began to speak. "Very well. The first time I saw the Seer, I was fighting against her. You see, I arrived in the Underdark by chance, summoned from the Lower Planes by the Valsharess in the attack that almost destroyed Lith M'yathar. At the time, I was nothing more than a rage-filled demon, consumed by my bloodlust and fury. Lith M'yathar was almost taken, and the Valsharess commanded me to kill the Seer."

"But you didn't," Tazieyn said matter-of-factly.

"I couldn't would be the more apt word. She looked at me with such compassion and kindness that I found I could not lift a blade against her. So I disobeyed the Valsharess and went back to the Hells where I had been before."

He paused, staring at the ground in front of him intensely. "When I returned, I found I could not get the Seer out of my mind. In all my mindless anger, she was what anchored my newfound sanity, and so I set my mind to find her again. Unfortunately, my master didn't like his slaves trying to escape."

"You were a slave?" Tazieyn was startled by this admission. The tiefling did not look like the type to be easily enslaved.

Valen flexed his arms uncomfortably. "Maybe it's best if I finish that story another time."

Burning now with more questions than ever, Tazieyn reluctantly nodded and returned to staring a hole through the room's entrance.

* * *

**A/N** – _Well, okay. I do talk too much. But I wanted to say this much to those who might be stuck looking for inspiration. Write when you're half-crazed by a need for sleep, say, around three or four in the morning. That's when most of this one was written, anyway. And thanks for the reviews! I will do my best to keep the updates fairly regular. - __**Silvorfithrade**_


	5. A Rather Failed Encounter

Chapter Five – A Rather Failed Encounter

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**A/N** – _I can't believe I've gotten the reviews I've gotten on this story; so first off, thanks to all of you that took time to post reviews – every time I get stuck for ideas, you guys inspire me to think harder and more "outside the box." _

_**elven-cat2**__ – I finally finished plotting out every tiny, unwary detail of Tazieyn's background story, so you can expect a lot more of her past explained in the chapters to come. :)_

_**Fhulhi**__ – Thanks! I look forward to writing those interactions as well._

_**Kynrael**__ – Oh, sweet little Deekin...don't we all just adore the cute little guy? Gotta love a guy who can call someone "goat man" completely innocently, with a straight face and absolutely no shame. :)_

_I wanted this story to have a little creativity to it so it wouldn't be the same plot most of you guys play through on HotU, and even though she's only just been introduced to the story, I've grown to love Bellamina and her clumsy, naïve ways. I hope you have as much fun reading about her as I've had writing her! – **Silvorfithrade**_

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The feeling of dread that had begun as a simple prickling in her stomach had blossomed into a full-fledged gnawing by the time Tazieyn and the others left the welcome, if not unfamiliar, fireplace to venture further into the golem hall. Three feet into the spotless, foreboding corridors, she realized exactly why her instincts were on fire for her to leave – three massive, metallic constructs lumbered around aimlessly almost directly in front of her. 

Any sort of unnatural, non-breathing creature made her uneasy, undead being among the worst. Golems fell into the same category, and Tazieyn suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to first throw up, then to run directly back out of the main entrance. She glanced over her shoulder and noticed Valen watching her intently, while Bellamina paced behind him uneasily. And Deekin was – wait, where _was_ Deekin?

"Valen, have you seen– "

"No, my lady, I have not," he replied almost instantly. "I was wondering the same myself, but before you go accusing me of anything, he was right behind us only a minute ago."

"I wouldn't have acc—" Tazieyn began, but was cut off by Bellamina, who scowled and said loudly, "Defensive, are we? I'm watching you, you no good—"

"Bellamina, no! Lower your voice!" the half-elf hissed, but the damage was done. All three golems turned to stare at the group with an unnatural speed for beings so large. Tazieyn shuddered involuntarily as she swallowed her nausea. Damn...when did golems get so fast? And how in the Nine Hells did they hear anything, anyway?

"Now look what you've done, you little golden-eyed mephit," Valen spat as he hefted his flail with experienced hands. Bellamina's eyes grew wide at the insult, but she had no time to reply as she ducked instinctively to avoid the crushing fist of another golem that had just arrived behind her.

"Don't just stand there talking! Do something!" Tazieyn yelled as she hacked away at the golem in front of her, but to no avail. The metals that made up the creature before her only seemed to be doing damage to her weapons instead of the other way around. Taking a quick survey of her teammates, she assessed they were having the same problem.

As if to confirm her suspicions, Bellamina cried out in frustration, "Why won't my weapon work? Come on! No, don't get stuck _there_! Sunbeam! _Sunbeam_!"

"We should retreat!" Valen called over his shoulder as he dodged the relentless attacks. He hissed in pain as one solid hit connected with his right thigh. "Tazieyn! Let's rethink this plan of ours, shall we?"

"I agree!" Whirling around, she took up the rear and followed Valen and Bellamina back into the room with the fireplace, slamming the door shut and hastily locking it with a spell from a scroll, almost stumbling over the unfamiliar arcane words as she read them as fast as she could. For good measure, she grabbed a rather plain-looking but sturdy chair and shoved it up against the exit. Finally, she allowed herself to slump slightly in partial relief.

"You! Aasimar!" Tazieyn barked sharply. "What can you do, anyway, besides cause trouble and attract every golem in this cursed building to our little group of four? And look, we're missing someone. Can you heal? Ye gods, please say you can heal, because if you can't I might take your sorry little ass, haul it back over to the Dark River, tie a heavy rock to your feet, dump meat juices on you, and toss you in the water. And gods forbid there be no carnivorous fish in there, because I swear, I'll summon them up myself!"

"Yes, I can heal." Bellamina wilted under Tazieyn's furious glare. "I'm a paladin of Lathander, and the Morninglord—"

"Then patch up Valen while I try to figure out how we go find Deekin! It was your mouth that got us into this, Bellamina. Use it to help get us out!"

The aasimar looked for a brief moment as though she might protest, but another death glare from the half-elf silenced any words she may have said before they reached her lips. She set about her task with a sullen look on her face. Valen shifted uncomfortably as she began to unbuckle blood-soaked plates of armor from his leg but said nothing, only giving Tazieyn another one of his appraising looks he seemed to throw her way quite often.

Tazieyn paced back and forth across the expansive room, her mind racing and her heart pumping. Where had the little kobold gone? And more importantly, once they found him, how would they make it past the golems to reach the artifact they were supposedly going after? Would the item they sought be worth the trouble of reaching it?

"I hope you have a plan, Tazieyn," sniffed Bellamina as she stood up while Valen re-donned the parts of his armor lying on the floor around him. "You might be all ready for a suicide mission, but I, for one, do _not_ relish the idea of dying down here! In this...this..._nowhere_ place! You might just be treasure-hunting mercenaries, but I—"

"Actually, aasimar, we are fighting against a growing force that may soon overtake the entire Underdark. Of course, if you are too afraid, we could always turn you over to Cavellas the boatman..." Valen said slowly, his eyes expressionless.

Bellamina was not intimidated. "Oh, you mean like forces of _good_? In that case, I'd be happy to join the other cause."

The tiefling barked a laugh at her ludicrous statement. "You just let me know the day the forces of good overtake the Underdark, you naïve little teacup. Of course, if you _want_ to rally with a drow matron who commands forces such as beholders, illithid, and even her playtoy, an _archdevil_, then by all means, Celestial Being of All That Is Good. Go run to the Valsharess right now; I'm sure she'd be happy to have another swordarm in her cause of destruction."

His short speech left Bellamina speechless for a brief moment. Then, she let out a soft cry of outrage. "How dare you – I would never—"

Valen shrugged and interrupted her. "You said it, not me."

Trapped by her own words, the aasimar could do nothing but fume silently, one hand gripping the handle of her mace in fury. While the two planetouched verbally battled out their frustrations behind her, Tazieyn gripped her hair in frustration. Oh, if she _ever_ laid hands on that mad archmage Halaster Blackcloak...

* * *

_To be continued in Chapter 6 of Elf, Man, and Demon. :)  
_


	6. Chaos

Chapter Six – Chao**s  
**

* * *

**A/N – **_Sorry for the ridiculous delay in updating. At least, that's how it's felt to me ... but here is chapter six at last! A crap chapter, I'm sure but...oh well, there will be others._

* * *

Zesyyr Maeviir rubbed her coal-black hands together in delight. Everything was going as planned; she had turned Captain Tebimar to her cause, and the charismatic drow male had already accumulated quite a few allies among the rogue drow of the city.

Most Houses shunned the houseless rogues, some even going as far as killing them on sight, but Zesyyr had welcomed them into the house of Maeviir, giving them new identities, and had them work against her mother for quite some time now. She respected the skills that living on the streets of a drow city gave a person, and her allies gave her somewhat of an edge against most other houses.

She still, however, like many other drow leaders, feared the Valsharess. Oh, how hearing that name made her want to scream in frustration, hatred, and rage! Still, she composed herself as she addressed her small group of followers. Maybe her mother was the matron of House Maeviir in name, but she, Zesyyr Maeviir, was the true ruler of her house! And now, thanks to her successes, she would soon be ruler in name as well.

Zesyyr looked at each of her followers in turn: Captain Tebimar, the rogue Kalith'sa, Tebimar's two apprentices, the human Durshan, that arrogant priest of Vhaerun whose name she did not know, and her own priestess Shisilli. "Today, we strike the Matron Mother, allies of House Maeviir," she said, each word lifting her spirits. "When you enter the throne room, you must distinguish between the forces that are loyal to Myrune and the forces loyal to me. Keep her guards busy, and I will personally be the one to slit her weak, sniveling throat."

"We will serve you well, _Matron_ Zesyyr," they intoned one by one and bowed respectfully.

**oOo**

"Do you have a plan yet, _leader_?" Valen asked acidly as he got to his feet and turned to the door, shoving Bellamina aside as she tried to stop him. "Tazieyn?"

"I hope you're happy, tiefling," Bellamina sniffed. "Looks like your all-faithful leader just deserted us."

"Aasimar, I swear, if you don't shut your godsbedamned mouth, I will shut it for you. Permanently."

"Well, then do something!"

"You do something. You got us into this." he snarled. His patience was snapping.

"Oh, so it's all my fault now, is it?"

"Bellamina, by the multiverse and Ao himself, if you don't shut up..." He trailed off as the door suddenly crumpled, splintering under the weight of the large creature that came crashing through it. He watched in horror as the iron golem raised its hammer, preparing to crush a completely oblivious Bellamina beneath it.

"You stupid bundle of flowers; get out of the way!" he yelled as he tackled her bodily, both of them crashing to the floor just as the boards where she had been standing were shredded by their attacker's massive weapon.

Valen jumped back to his feet, battle instinct taking over his body as he pounded at the golem with the weapon in his own hands. His rage settled into a methodical comfort; _this_ was where he belonged, on the battlefield. The world around him was a blur as he focused on his opponent; the objective was to kill, and everything else came later. He barely heard the golem roar in defeat as it fell to pieces before him with a loud crash.

**oOo**

Bellamina watched, frozen in wide-eyed terror as the tiefling warrior felled their assailant with a final, mighty blow. He was almost...inhuman? No, that wasn't the right word; he wasn't even human to begin with. _Godlike_, she thought slowly as she pulled herself to her feet. _Or like a powerful demon in the throes of battle._ She couldn't help but shudder as she imagined what would happen if he suddenly decided he wanted her dead. Why was he still keeping her alive, anyway? Was there some merit to what the woman Tazieyn had said? And yet...he saved her, hadn't he?

"Who are you?" she whispered, backing away from the scene slowly, her heartbeat pounding in her head as she blacked out and hit the ground again.

**oOo**

"Damn it, girl; you die on me and there'll be hell to pay," Valen muttered as he searched through a tangle of bloody silver hair for the source of the wound. "I can't believe you. I knock you out of the way to save your life and you still split your skull open. On your own weapon, no less."

After rummaging through his pack, he tipped his last healing potion down her throat. "I hope you're happy. You almost got us killed, you know."

_Kill her. Now._

There it was again, that confounded demonic whisper.

_Kill her, Valen! I know you want to. She has been enough trouble for you; why not dispose of her now? We can even blame it on the golem. Do it, and no one will ever know..._

"Um...where Boss be?"

Shaking, Valen turned on the kobold furiously. "Do you want to die too?" he roared. Deekin squeaked in fright and scrambled out of his reach.

"What...what you mean? You not...you not _kills_ little Deekin! That not makes Boss very happy, Deekin thinks..." he babbled as he reached for his crossbow. "Well, Deekin not just any little kobold! Deekin gots dragon blood! No one kills Deekin without Boss's permission!"

"What the hell...?"

Both of them turned to find Tazieyn standing in the doorway, a bemused expression on her face. "I don't get it," she said finally, suppressing a laugh. "I leave to scout the hallways for a split second to see if a way was clear, and I get back and find..." She gestured helplessly with her hands at the wrecked floorboards. "And Deekin, please tell me that's not a line in your book."

The kobold scrunched up his eyes in thought. "No, it not, but that be a good idea; thanks Boss!"

A slight groan escaped Bellamina's lips as she came to. "Tazieyn? Where were you?" She jumped as she noticed Deekin in the corner. "And where did that kobold come from?"

"Actually, that's a really good question," Tazieyn said slowly, eyeing the kobold with raised eyebrows. "Deekin? You first, then we can all swap stories."

A delighted expression washed over Deekin's face as he nodded eagerly. "Well, Deekin hear Boss say golems, and Deekin be thinkings, golems big, strong, magic-made things, right? Deekin reads about these things. So Deekin decides, maybe if magic make them, maybe, magic break them apart, right Boss?" He fished through his pockets and pulled out a small statue. "Deekin sees the Boss, goat-man, and lady with pretty gold eyes not gettings anywhere, so little Deekin goes by himself. Little, not noticed easily, Deekin thinks." He frowned.

"Golems get mad when Deekin takes statue, though. Deekin finds book on statue, too; it made to take golems apart, Deekin thinks. Deekin tries it on angry golem, and it fallings apart. Golem, not statue. Deekin thinkings, maybe statue work for Boss?" He held the stone piece up to Tazieyn and shrugged. "If not workings, then maybe something like it that does, Deekin thinks. Mage not make all these golems and not have way to control them, Deekin thinks."

"Gods, Deekin, you're brilliant!" Tazieyn whispered, a grin coming to her face as she took the statue and studied it carefully. "Well, there's only one way to find out if this thing works, right?" She smiled brightly at the incredulous faces before her and practically skipped back out through the tattered doorway.

Bellamina stood up and shouldered her mace with a grimace. "You are all out of your minds." Nevertheless, she strode into the hall after Tazieyn with a look of set determination.

"And the Boss and the intrepid kobold companion set out once more, to face the terrors of the deep, dark..."

"Deekin, can you not talk for once?"

"The intrepid kobold companion begins to wonder..."

"Deekin."

"Why goat man gots tail that not look like goat?"


	7. Locked Doors

Chapter 7 – Locked Doors

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**A/N** – _Must we have another one of these blasted … _ things_? - sigh - But of course. : ) What's a chap-by-chap fic without a good ole a/n? Even if they have absolutely nothing to say, that is… Okay, I shall cease my rambling and get on with the story. Don't stone me please._

* * *

Tazieyn knelt by the various scattered bodyparts of what had to be the biggest mythril golem she had ever seen in her life. Deekin had run off in ecstasy when she had told him it was okay to explore the upper level by himself, and Bellamina, who cursed his stupidity, had run off after him, leaving her in the hallway with only Valen and no one else. For some reason, she didn't really think Bellamina was ready to hear that she, apparently having received the aasimar's label of "good, noble, and righteous," followed a drow elf goddess, no matter how good the deity was. She couldn't help but grin as another thought struck her suddenly – perhaps it would be nice to have a true precious few minutes of silence, absent for once from Deekins constant singing.

Clasping the holy symbol of Eilistraee with both hands, she whispered her usual, heartfelt – if not laden with the usual eloquencies of the drow, it was sincere – prayer of thanks. "_Lu' nin Usstan belbau g'rftte whol ussta abbanen, d'anthe Eilistraee_," she whispered fervently. _And now I give thanks for my allies, dear Eilistraee._

"_Belbau uns'aa khalith, ussta Olath Wenress. S'slig'ne ussta abbanen dal jivviim, lu' ori'gato uns'aa plynn l' retlah crup whol udossta duandan_." _Give me courage, my Dark Maiden. Protect my allies from harm, and let me take the full blame for our mistakes_.

"_Lu' phor jal, d'anthe Quar'valsharess, xxizz..."_ here she took a glance at Valen, suddenly self-conscious of her words. _"…xxizz nindol nesst vel'uss zah'haren ji dal ukt vlos. Ka dos shlu'ta'naut duul'sso ukta, t'yin belbau uns'aa l' orn ulu xun ji._"

_And above all, dear Goddess, help this man who suffers so from his blood. If you cannot free him, then give me the will to do so._

Suddenly, she was thankful also for the tiefling's limited proficiency of the Drow language, and hoped dearly that he hadn't heard her request. But upon looking at him, he only seemed interested in picking bits of sheared metal from the spikes on his flail. Truly, she could not tell if he had understood her or not.

**oOo**

"Kobold, what makes you so different?"

Deekin half-climbed out of the wardrobe he had been rummaging in and looked up to the confused face of their new companion. "Deekin not knows what you mean." He shrugged with his tiny shoulders and fished out his new treasure, an ancient looking book with the handwritten label _Lab Notes of the Maker_. Plopping down cross-legged on the floor, he immediately immersed himself in his find.

"You...there is something about you that is different from the creatures I have read about in my studies. The creatures in my schoolbooks...they were weak and untrustworthy creatures, willing to backstab each other in an instant for something as small as personal safety."

Cocking his head to one side like an inquisitive child, the kobold blinked. "But...personal safety be good thing though, right? Boss always says if you can't fight, run to fight next time. Deekin not writes big epic if he be layings dead in a corner with Boss and the others too. Boss always says if little Deekin outnumbered and Boss dies, run and not come back without magic stick that raises people."

"But that is my point," persisted Bellamina. "Though I have never seen one in person before you, the kobolds I have read about would have fled and never returned. Have the authors been deceived into false perceptions about your kind? Or are you somehow...different?"

"Deekin not thinks he be so different as other kobolds. Deekin thinks maybe... Deekin just gots good Boss. Good Boss not something other kobolds have, maybe." He shrugged. "Maybe if all kobolds have good Boss, they all be different and we be more of the same, Deekin thinks."

He eyed Bellamina with a glint in his eye. "Maybe goat man be more like Deekin. Different, because he gots good Boss." With that said, he turned back to his book and continued his furtive perusing, leaving Bellamina to think on what he had just said.

Sighing heavily, Bellamina turned to leave the ornately decorated room, her eyes lingering over a magnificent bedspread draped by a moth-eaten curtain. The entire place had a...quaint sort of beauty, she decided. A beauty that came at the price of imminent danger. Was the whole of Aber-Toril like this? Did everything worth seeing – and having, for that matter – come at such a steep price?

Her mind still wandering, she took one step into the hall and tripped over a loose tile, falling flat on her face in the process. And as if to add to her humiliation, Deekin picked that particular moment to stick his scaly head outside the room and pipe up, "Deekin also wonders if lady with pretty gold eyes wears wig?"

Choking and spluttering, Bellamina finally gasped out, "What?"

"You say you be half angel, right? Deekin reads book on angels once. Big, tall ones with green skin and no hair. You don't got green skin, so maybe..." He shrugged again and plodded back to where Tazieyn was waiting, leaving Bellamina on the floor looking rather flustered.

"Planetar!" she hissed in vain as she pulled herself up. "I'm half _deva_, not planetar!"

**oOo**

The sole remaining tower of House Maeviir was, to put it quite plainly, as silent as death that day. The usual wards were in place at the doors, the guards patrolled every hall and tiny room with their regular vigilance, and yet...something was amiss. Matron Myrune paced the tower's sanctum restlessly with the prickling feeling that somewhere, something was terribly wrong. She glanced momentarily at the current male she had taken as her sire, her loyal and most trusted Captain Tebimar Maeviir. But the drow never truly trusted one another, and for a split second she could have sworn she had spotted his eyes darting toward the door in anxiety.

The waver in his steadfast guard would normally have not drawn her attention, but for some reason, on this day...

"Tebimar, you damnable _traitor_!" she shouted suddenly in ferocious anger as she pulled a handful of daggers from a belt pouch and hurled them at the charismatic drow captain. His eyes widened in surprise as two knives buried themselves to the hilt in his chest, another one skimming his shoulder and leaving a bloody scratch.

"Matron..." he groaned in agony as he slumped limply to the floor while the guards at the door watched the scene in shock and fear.

"Who else _dares_ to follow this traitorous fool in his actions?" Myrune raged, a dangerous looking staff suddenly appearing in her hands as she glared at her would-be protectors. No one even so much as twitched at her threatening movements. Tebimar lay on the floor at his post, groaning in pain and wavering in and out of consciousness as the door opened once again and in glided Zesyyr Maeviir, only surviving daughter of House Maeviir.

"I see you welcome me into your home, _mother_," she spat as she pulled out a poison-tipped dagger and thrusted forward into the Matron's exposed stomach in one quick, fluid motion. A second dagger soon followed, finding its way across her exposed throat, spilling her blood in a gurgling spray that coated her attacker and several of the guards before her. "I thank you sincerely for assaulting my most loyal and devoted _father_."

"Such a loving family," Durshan muttered under his breath as he slid a knife between the ribs of the last guard loyal to Matron Myrune, which had been trying futilely to choke him with a short length of chain.

"And you would think we would have had enough of this bloodshed by now," Kalith'sa snorted as she impaled Durshan's attacker with her katana after the human shoved the limp body away from him with a look of disdain on his face.

"Kieransalee be praised," Shisilli intoned in her unique, little-girl voice as the last guard finally fell to the ground after what had seemed like an unintentional, macabre game of toss with his body. "We have triumphed." With that, she knelt by the unconscious Tebimar and unceremoniously yanked the daggers from his body, ignoring his slight groans of protest as she tossed them aside and began lacing his still form with healing magic.

Durshan ignored her and glanced back at Kalith'sa, reacting to what he saw by snatching a knife from his belt and hurling it at her. The rogue drow's horrified glance melted to one of gratitude as another guard's body slumped to the floor next to her, still warm hands clutching a dagger dripping with venom. "I do believe you owe me your life," he murmured, catching her eye and hand with his own. Kalith'sa caught his implication immediately and backed away.

"A debt I will pay once the chance shows itself," she assured him, her tone suddenly icy as she sheathed her katana after wiping it down swiftly with a grimy rag. Flecks of blood flew around her as she tossed the rag on the ground and left the room.

"Watch how you speak around her," Shisilli warned, her voice still unbelievably youthful but her tone grave. "Kieransalee has shown me some of her past. She may accept your teasing now, but one day you may waken to find a dagger buried in your ribs."

"And you aid me why?" he countered. The drow were treacherous enough that he often questioned any help beyond what was required of his duties as a hired mercenary. In answer from the necromancer priestess, he only received a sly grin.

Immensely confused by the flighty elves, Durshan grimly stood his ground and hoped this latest foray provided him with enough money to take an extended vacation, far away from this vast and sinister underground place. By that time, he was certain he would have more than earned his break.

**oOo**

Tazieyn muttered vile curses in Drow as she fumbled with the lock on the stone door that supposedly led down to the second level of the golem hall. Another set of picks had snapped in the intricate lock, an action that had repeatedly left her short-tempered and lacking on patience. This hall was wearing on her nerves...the Hall of the Maker, she had come to find it was called. Whoever this Maker was, he would receive a tongue lashing if she ever laid hands on him.

Behind her, Valen hummed an unfamiliar tune as Deekin jumped up and down beside him, begging the tiefling to teach him the melody. Something, apparently, had mollified Bellamina into holding her tongue, she noticed, for the aasimar paladin was unusually silent at the moment. Curiosity tugged vaguely at the corners of her mind as she dug through her pockets for a new set of lockpicks. Hm...that pocket was empty. Useful knowledge, to be sure, she thought absently.

What she felt in her hip pocket briefly made her blood run cold. No...it couldn't be...could it? Pulling it out, she turned the small artifact over in her hands. Deceptively delicate-looking golden strands of metal surrounded a dark red core that pulsed with what seemed to be a life of its own. Tazieyn pursed her lips thoughtfully. So the artifact _could_ withstand much more than she gave it credit for.

"The last time I saw _you_ was when I dropped you into an active volcano on the Chult peninsula," she murmured to the object. "Since you seem to love me so much, I might as well get some use from you. Appreciate the devotion really." She pocketed the device with a satisfied grin and sighed heavily as she turned back toward the door. Sometimes, she wondered if picking locks was worth the silent entry it allowed. Maybe the next locked door she came upon, she could bash down with something big and heavy.


	8. A Wasted Effort

Chapter Eight – A Wasted Effort

**A/N** – _Just as a side note, from here on out, the plot will stick to just about nothing in the original storyline. What can I say? I got bored with the original adventure, really. So ideas and such, and major plot items maybe. But this is no longer your typical scene by scene playback of the game. _

_EDIT: So sorry, so sorry! Updates are coming soon...er or later. I promise, I haven't forgotten about you! – wails at marching band practice – But anyway. I updated/edited the last section and added more to this chapter to compensate. I'm working on the updates, really!_

* * *

"There was nothing down there."

Tazieyn's words were of disbelief and rage, and curses and epithets in a multitude of languages swirled in her mind as the events that unfolded at the golem hall played out in her memory. "It was a false lead. The Maker has been dead for centuries, his golems long gone to some other place..._damn! _We wasted all that time, and for what? Nothing! Nothing at all!"

"We have gained an ally from that escapade, my lady," Valen remarked in a droll voice as Cavellas expertly guided his sleek ship to the dock of Lith M'yathar. "Or have you already forgotten her?"

Being reminded of the impertinent aasimar did little to diminish Tazieyn's rage, and she squeezed her fists together in fury. "That _ally_ would have no doubt found her way to Lith M'yathar, given the time. It isn't like there are many other places her that would welcome someone with celestial heritage. No, I'd say this trip was a definite, distinct waste of our time."

Practically snarling with rage, Tazieyn stalked off the ship without a second's glance back. Valen knew the way to the temple; leading the other two back to the Seer would be wholeheartedly his problem. "You!" She pointed at a drow warrior who wore a holy symbol of Eilistraee on his hip. "Yes, _you._ With the two swords and the red cape. Fight me. Now." She barked the commands like a general in an army, and the drow in question was halfway to appeasing her request before he realized he had no idea who she was or what her intentions were.

Upon being asked, she sighed heavily and shook her head impatiently. "I need to let off steam. Just fight me. I won't kill you."

"Troops, resume your training," the man called as he drew his own weapons. He turned to the furious half-elf and smiled slightly. "You are the one they call Tazieyn, yes? The Seer has said much about you."

"Just shut up and fight," she growled, but she visibly relaxed at his words.

"I suppose you should at least know who I am beforehand," he said wryly. "My name is Captain Marcel'n." He lashed with a simple, easily blocked strike, as though he were testing the waters. They circled each other, weapons drawn.

"Captain, you _might_ be able to help us, now that I think on it," Tazieyn remarked absently as she feinted high and thrusted a blade low, toward his knees. This move was also blocked, and they circled once again.

"Truly? How, then?" He blocked and easily parried her swings, but was suddenly taken by surprise at a quick counter-parry, which he was forced dodge by slipping into a low crouch.

"Our last lead was a dismal failure, which is why I was, and still partially am, in a foul mood. Wasting time is not something I want to do." Her left rapier circled distractingly while her right blade found an opening and slashed gracefully. The strike was blocked and parried once again, the blades making a pleasant ringing as they clashed. "If you have any places where we might find _real_ allies, then please, by all means. Say so."

"Directly, I know of no such information," he said slowly as he flipped gracefully to avoid a slash that flew dangerously close to his main sword-arm. "However, I have heard tell of a silver dragon that makes her home not far from here." A skillful move on his part disarmed Tazieyn's right blade and forced her to block his sudden flurry of moves with one hand. "I believe her name is Ali'manderra'sori."

"A silver dragon, huh?" she mused as she suddenly dropped into a low stance and retrieved a rather long, wicked-looking dagger from her right boot. Once again, armed with two weapons, she whirled into an attack that would have left most opponents reeling in dizziness. Marcel'n, however, simply twisted with her and avoided all but a single scratch in his armor.

"Ah, you want to dance," he commented as he spun away fluidly. "But yes, about the dragon. Rumors say she is an alchemist of no small ability. She would be a valuable addition to our forces, however..." He paused as the combat grew tense, their swords clashing one after another, the telltale rings echoing in the large cavern of the Underdark.

"However?" Tazieyn prompted as she drew back and circled once again.

"Reaching her would be most problematic." Another flurry of blows came at her again, though with two hands, she easily blocked and returned every one of them.

"How so?" she questioned as she slipped just out of the man's reach.

An amused look came over Marcel'n's face. "The only known path to her lair is through Zorvak'mur, the city of illithids. Mind flayers are formidable enemies, you know."

"You find that funny?" Tazieyn asked incredulously as she was once again forced into a guard stance. From there, she executed a series of quick thrusts and jabs that forced Marcel'n back a few more steps.

"Hm...very good," he complimented as he quickly worked to regain his footing. "Not the fact that you would be fighting mind flayers, but that they may be quite confused upon reading the thoughts of that kobold friend of yours. We spoke once, on the day of your arrival, I think. An interesting fellow, however his thought process is...somewhat hard to follow."

"That I can relate to," she replied with a laugh as she crossed her blades, parried down, and disarmed him of his right hand weapon. This he remedied by switching hands, leaving his left hand empty. "He claims to have dragon blood, and from what I've seen of him lately, my doubts of that are beginning to vanish."

Marcel'n's eyes sparkled. "Dragon blood, my lady? A fascinating person indeed, then. You seem to have quite a talent for attracting the most charming of friends."

"A question," Tazieyn prompted as she worked to find another opening in the drow's defenses. "I'm beginning to wonder; were you a bard, at any given time, perchance?"

"Oh?" The drow raised his eyebrows. "And why would you ask that?"

"Simply because you speak with the charm and wit of an entertainer," she returned, inwardly cursing her failed attempt to disarm him of his second weapon.

"I was a bard, once in a lifetime ago..." Marcel'n cocked his head sideways. "But those days are long past now." He slashed twice, the second strike leaving a slit in her cloak. "And what of you, my lady? Your words carry a degree of charm as well. One befitting a bard of no small talent, or perhaps..." he pursed his lips in contemplation. "A paladin?"

"Once," Tazieyn answered through gritted teeth. "Once in a lifetime ago, maybe."

As if by some odd stroke of humorous luck, the two opponents lunged for a disarmament at the exact same time, and as luck would have it, their weapons flew out of hand almost simultaneously. "A draw, then, my lady?" Marcel'n bowed with a flourish as he stooped to retrieve her rapiers for her and presented them to their owner, hilt first.

"A draw," she agreed as she accepted her blades and slid them back into their sheaths. She looked up at the drow captain and found every trace of her ill mood completely gone.

**oOo**

Kalith'sa fingered the flat of her katana thoughtfully as she packed provisions into a small pack. Had she still a House, then perhaps she would have been another one of her pompous, arrogant female counterparts, a priestess, perhaps, running around with one of those silly snake whips trying to coax the Spider Queen back into existence. But she, Kalith'sa of what was once House Viladree, was no priestess. Taut muscles rippled across her back as she stretched arms stiff from battle and fatigue, muscles that were solid and strong from constant use. Her walk was smooth and limber; her clothing, practical. She wore none of the fine, delicate, dwarvencraft jewelry with which her fellow drow so elegantly bedecked themselves. Kalith'sa was a warrior.

In some ways, she mused, she was almost more human than drow, though only another drow would be able to make the distinction. It was more in the way she fought, in the quick, decisive way she danced with her blade that was so unfamiliar here in the Underdark. Her arms and her blade melted into one and the same when she fought, and her style was one she had developed on her own through the years of hardship that had followed the fall of her House. She had been a child of a mere twenty-five years back then, innocent enough at the time, and yet the years had left her bitter and angry at whatever cruel fate that had left her trapped here in this hellish pit of a world to which she was born.

It was by mere chance that she had met the merchant caravan passing through the Underdark. Humans though they were, she had a chance to become something other than the slave she was destined to become had she remained on her own. She bought the katana, learned basic maneuvers from watching the merchants themselves spar with one another, and then, she had met _him_.

Of course, only she would have such misfortune as to see the accursed human again here, now, in the place that was supposed to be her refuge. She hadn't harbored such ill thoughts back then; all she had wanted was someone to show her how to use her new weapon. Humans couldn't have been anywhere near as treacherous as her own kin, she had thought back then. Naïve little girl. She deserved all she had gotten for her stupidity, she thought bitterly.

"Are you ready for our departure, little raven?"

"I'll not answer to your petty little nicknames," she responded acidly as she shouldered the pack, looping the scabbard to her belt with nimble hands.

"I believe you just did," Durshan responded as he strode into the ill-furnished military tent with a spring in his step. "We leave within the hour."

She met his eyes, rage swelling within her as she gripped her weapon tightly. "We leave within the hour," she echoed in acknowledgment and walked past him, exiting the tent without a glance back.

"Oh, come now. You are too beautiful to act like a she-wyvern," he called after, an exaggerated look of remorse clouding his face.

"Flattery only makes you more disgusting," Kalith'sa spat as she slammed a fist into a nearby stalagmite to emphasize her statement.

"Why do you hate me, I wonder," Durshan murmured as he deftly collapsed and rolled the tent into a neat bundle. "What did I ever do to you besides sell you that overgrown knife of yours?"

**oOo**

"Impressive," Tazieyn remarked as she watched a lithe drow woman weave in and out of various battle stances at lightning speed, striking out randomly at the circle of practice dummies around her and never missing a single one. "Who is she?"

Marcel'n cocked his head to one side and followed her finger. His face darkened when he saw the subject of her admiration. "Her name is Kalith'sa Viladree, although I suppose her surname means close to nothing since she is the sole surviving member of her House. House Maeviir freed her from the illithid slave dealers in Zorvak'mur once they heard about her reputation there in the gladiatorial arena." He grimaced. "She is...almost too determined, I think. A bit too eager to throw herself at the enemy with little regard for her own life. I suppose being a slave to the illithid can really change a person, can't it?"

"A good sword-arm though, you have to admit." Tazieyn fingered her rapier hilts thoughtfully, mentally assessing her own abilities. She was competent in a fight, sure, but her philosophy was more akin to slitting the throat as quickly as she could before she got sliced in two, herself. In a fair fight, especially with this Kalith'sa, she wouldn't stand a chance. "Maybe it's a good thing I don't fight fairly anymore," she murmured to herself. Startled by her own admission, she glanced at the drow captain nervously but he either hadn't heard or was acting like he hadn't.

"A good sword-arm indeed," Marcel'n agreed.


End file.
